Tales from the Azure
by Veldrin
Summary: A series of short stories taking place in the same continuity as From the Azure to Zero that don't fit into the main story.
1. Resting Black

The first in a series of short stories written for _From the Azure to Zero_ that don't fit into the main story.

I still own neither Blazblue nor Type-Moon.

* * *

How had it found itself in Europe? That was a question that none could answer.

Hints of its existence could be found in various tales and stories spoken of by travellers. Some found it lying on the road, others among the possessions of their hapless victims. Either way, it appeared to refuse to simply be left lying by the road; always calling for attention.

It did not seem to be some great weapon of legend, it did not change the course of history and was never recorded in popular tales. Even after being used near the end of the thirteenth century, it faded back into obscurity as an unexplained tragedy.

It first came to the attention of a certain lineage of magi when it came into possession of their founder's brother, a man with some small magical ability. Though unable to grasp the true value of his find, his talent was at least sufficient to realize that he had found _something_.

The family in question had only just begun to establish themselves and naturally saw this as an opportunity to increase their own power – why, if the relic was as ancient as it appeared to be, it could be the key to their ascension!

They were sorely disappointed when the secret proved far out of their reach. From this point on, it was left to the side as something of a curiosity.  
Over the following years, the family would grow into prominence until it could claim a position of significant power.

It would not be until their tenth generation that the acquisition would prove it's worth.

* * *

With patient cautiousness, the young man directed his energy toward the container. The device contained within absorbed it with gluttonous speed.

Moments later, a dark green smoke began to fill the glass container, obscuring the insides.

"Hum…interesting. Take note, Maria: Indirect transferance of prana is rejected upon reaching a threshold of eight units."

"Yes sir, eight units."

With the haste of a practiced professional, his older assistant wrote down his observations in a black handbook.

It wasn't for his own sake, of course. He would retain the information acquired in such experiments for the rest of his life. The notes were made for the sake of his future inheritors, so that they would have no need to repeat his research.

This particular subject had become something of a family tradition over the generations. It was hardly a central point of their knowledge, but it had become a custom for each new generation to push the study of it a little deeper than the last. Eventually, they would learn all that there was to know and it's mystery would become another proof of the Archibald family's proof of superiority.

The attempt at an indirect transmission of prana had been a whim of his, sparked by his great-grandfather's attempt at directly injecting prana within the relic. He hadn't expected anything, but it turned out that the result was different; his great-grandfather's notes indicated that the prana had been rejected after transferring 15 units.

It was possible that the difference was caused due to an incompatibility between the relic and himself, but since his natural talent far eclipsed his predecessors that was rather unlikely. In all likelihood, he had accidentally trigged a defensive mechanism made to limit outside interferences.

"The marked difference between these results and the results of experiment 26 indicate that my grandfather's theory that the relic was meant for direct use by a magus is most likely correct. Take note."

With a nod, the blond woman hastily transcribed his words. He quite liked her; obeying orders without question, able to keep silent and lacking curiosity, she was close to the ideal assistant for a magus like himself. Of course, she would never get far in life, but that was the natural divide between the common people and those meant for greatness. Better for her to quietly stand by his side than to embarrass herself by reaching outside her station.

But how was the relic meant to be activated? Clearly, it required more than a simple injection of prana which was eventually rejected. Perhaps the intended user possessed some physical characteristic that allowed proper activation? One of his grandfather's servants had reported receiving images similar to some spiritual contacts when he had been required to make contact with it. Further testing had proven unsuccessful and he himself hadn't experienced anything of the sort when he had first handled the artifact.

Taking all known factors into account, the relic was most likely a weapon meant to be wielded by a magus, animated by his prana and operated by mental commands. Or perhaps a mix of mental and vocal commands; some of the runes that they had managed to translate certainly seemed to be an incantation of some kind. Sadly, reciting them hadn't elicited a reaction.

If the missing requirement was some form of physical characteristic, then his attempts would most likely be fruitless.

Still, there were some options that were only possible for a prodigy like him. Since it was tragically possible that his successor would lack his natural talent, it was his duty to push it as much as he could.

* * *

With the sound of a snapping jaw, the nearby wall was neatly pierced. The reinforcement of the bounded field had been overcome without resistance.

Long trenches had been dug into the ground and most of the laboratory had already been ruined.

Blind and deaf to the destruction raging around him, the young man grappled with the maddened relic, mercilessly pouring power into it's circuits.

"You! Will! Obey!"

_The chant of a thousand dying screams._

_Gloriously revelling in destruction, it struck again and again at the whim of it's owner._

_A tool of war was one of destruction. It mindlessly, flawlessly obeyed it's programming and the commands it received._

With an ear-piercing cry, the device released the power that had been forced upon it, sending him crashing on the ground.

Panting from exhaustion, his body heavy from the amount of prana that he had been forced to provide, the man nonetheless smiled victoriously.

He had been correct! Even if he hadn't quite managed to gain control, he had managed to connect with the device to a degree that none of his predecessors had reported.

Even better, he had confirmed his own theories as to it's nature and the means of it's operation.

Glancing at his surrounding, he assessed the damaged that the berserk device had caused with disinterested eyes.

"Hum...the reaction was stronger than expected."

It was likely that with a sufficiently large amount of prana he could achieve complete mastery over the weapon. However, he lacked easy access to such a source of power and collecting his own prana would mean a delay in his other, more pressing studies. Perhaps he would have time for it later, or his successor would have a greater natural compatibility with the artifact.

The path of a magus was one of patience, after all. Years later, the memories of a semi-autonomous weapon would inspire the creation of what he could truly call his masterpiece.

As he left to call for his employees to take care of the mess, the unmoving snake that he had been struggling with remained silent on the ground. It's path, too, was one of patience.


	2. Fading Blue

Fading Blue

The world is black.

It isn't really, of course. She has simply lost the ability to see. Have her eyes been blinded during the battle, or is the damage to her body so severe that her senses were already gone?

Well, at least it means that she doesn't feel the pain that should be driving her mad.

But she doesn't need sight to notice the silhouette standing next to her. The being that inhabits the white armor exudes a presence that even her muddled mind cannot fail to register.

"You are fading, Child of the Azure. Your body has reached it's limit."

Does his deep voice have a trace of sadness in it? She likes to think that it does.

"Damage critical. System operating at 0.15%." The words come from her mouth without any conscious action on her part. She can barely recognize her own voice. "Prioritizing data transfer."

Her throat is miraculously undamaged, but her lungs are not. It is only with great effort that she manages to ask the one question that matters.

"Is it…over?"

The overwhelming presence focuses on her. Is he considering his words, or hoping that she'll lose consciousness before he has to answer?

When he speaks, his words seal the end of this life.

"He is dead, the play has ended." She isn't sure that he meant to speak aloud what came next. "It is time for the actors to leave the stage."

It takes time for her to understand what he means as she falls further in the darkness. When she understands, happiness fills her and the oppressive darkness becomes a welcome friend. She would thank him, but her body no longer responds.

There is no need to fight it anymore. If that man is gone then she can rest, even in this unknown place.

Like her sight, the feeling of the hard ground under her is gone. At last, even the hero's presnece fades from her perception.

The only thing left is the void, filled with light.

Content, she falls into a deep sleep.


	3. Wandering Silver

Disclaimer: I still own neither Blazblue nor Type-Moon

* * *

**Wandering Silver**

He was being watched.

The watcher was clever, with his presence concealed and no killing intent, it was unlikely that anyone else would have noticed. But to him, who had experienced and survived a world where neither time nor space followed the rules, they might as well have been standing in broad daylight.

Once more, he considered and dismissed the possibility of establishing contact with them.

As they were unwilling to approach him, he would in turn dismiss their existence since they were simple humans that did not carry the presence of "evil". That was the path that he had chosen when he had first begun to experience this world.

And what a world it was. Beautiful and pure, in a way that reminded him of the short time that he had experienced before the Black Beast came.

And yet even here, "evil" grew. But it was a different evil from what he had fought. Though mighty, it clung to the shadows and fled the light, remaining out of sight from humanity. He did not know why it did so; certainly, humanity had seemed ill-prepared to face such things when he had first arrived, though it had improved over time.

Perhaps it was because of the strength of organizations of those like the watcher. But he had yet to find someone who held the same potential as his comrades had, so long ago.

Well, it didn't matter. Evil existed, so he would strike it down. That truth had not changed, it would never change.

And yet…he was growing restless. He had ceased keeping track of time long ago, but he knew that his existence in this world had lasted much longer than his time in his own world. And yet, he had only once met a being that was worthy of his attention; all others being mere phantoms that had been dispatched before his killing intent could truly awaken.

Perhaps he should simply choose a place to settle and let enemies come to him, or find allies that were more familiar with the means of this time. Though he was loathe to admit it, his tactics were less efficient that they could be because he was unfamiliar with the means that the monsters of this world used to hide.

Means such as the ability they called magecraft. Pale reflection of sorcery though it was, it had proven efficient at temporarily confusing his senses while the six hundred and sixty-six beasts retreated.

Yes. it was foolish to refuse to accept that his judgment had erred From this point on he would change the course of his journey and would seek out an appropriate warrior of this era to learn from them. Though it was unlikely, he might even find one worthy of being called a comrade.

Without a sound, the hero began to walk again.

* * *

Andrei Nikodim was a man in his late thirties with blond hair and tired features, contrasting heavily with Nazariy, his easy-going friend who had brown hair and seemed to be in his mid-twenties.

Not that anyone could have seen that through the bounded field, camouflage gear and camping gear that surrounded them. Or the blizzard raging outside their camp.

"Next time he stops like he did today, I think I'm getting a heart attack."

"You worry about nothing, Andrei. There's no way he could see us in this weather even if we weren't protected."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry about being worried when we're following something that's been killing freakish things for who knows how long and that we know nothing about."

Nazariy fell silent after that.

Andrei was a third-generation magus, and not a particularly good or driven one at that. Early in his life, his father had more-or-less decided to forget about him and put his hope in his younger brother.

That suited Andrei fine; the life of a magus was either boring or suicidal and he didn't like either of those options. Beside, he'd learnt early on that there was easy money to be made in the ancient and noble task of "gathering information". Not even spying, really. Some people were willing to pay him for watching someone else's appartment and reporting whenever they stepped out. Apparently simple familiars were too big of a give-away for magi to use in subtle observation.

Well, that had been early on. Then it turned out that the one thing he was actually good at was not being noticed. One thing had led to another and before he knew it he'd become reliable for those people looking for something in Russia. Nazariy was one of those people that were in the same business and were occasionally willing to share tips; just another rat nibbling on the delicious food known as "easy profit".

Not that Nazariy was untalented or anything; he just wasn't as good at Andrei at figuring out where people were unlikely to look. He might have been a bit better at magecraft though. Just a bit.

Which led him to this stupid assignment that he should never have accepted. Apparently there was someone that some Church dog wanted followed – and that should have been his first clue, the Church never wanted to follow someone – except they didn't have anyone competent free in the vicinity and if Andrei was willing to take the case then he would get enough to retire. Which should have been another clue; Church dogs was never generous.

And then the biggest hint would have been when Nazariy offered to hang out with him during that 'boring' mission. Granted, he didn't know who Nizariy was working for this time, but he knew the kid had ties with the Clock Tower and those people were probably even worse than the Church when it came to 'following'.

Still, an early retirement sounded really good and this would help him get out of Russia before the damn Communists took power, so he'd accepted.

And then it had turned out that by "man" they meant "humanoid thing dressed in white armor with a giant sword that manages to look colder than the blizzard around it". And Andrei didn't care about how foolproof the equipment he'd bought and the fields that Nazariy had put up were, the damn thing knew they were watching.

Oh, it had never turned around to look in his direction and he didn't even know if it had eyes, but every so often it would stop walking and he'd feel like that sword was being driven through his gut.

The information he'd gotten on it said that it had never paid any attention to humans. And he really, really hoped that today wasn't the day that it'd change that habit.

Not that it needed to, because at that rate nature would get them first. The thing might have been walking slowly, but it didn't stop, so they could only afford to sleep in shifts of a few hours before they had to catch up to it. Because if they lost track, then odds were good they'd lose it for good.

"Anyway, how far from the border are we anyway? That's where the other guys are supposed to pick up the trail."

Sighing, Nazariy, brushed a lock of hair aside and looked down at the map that he'd laid down on the ground.

"About 600 kilometers, give or take."

Andrei frowned dejectedly as he laid down on the ground.

"So about a week to go."

When Nazariy shook him out of his lethargy an hour later because the blizzard had mostly abated, he couldn't help but wonder if the money was really worth the trouble this time.


End file.
